Thor's easy acceptance of her close positioning warmed her heart, it was with a smile hinting at her lips that she felt the gentle caress of his wing upon her back. Was it luck, good fortune that had brought him to her? Or was it simply her skill at choosing only the finest to reside here with her? It had been her, after all, to approach him in the Threshold, to offer him shelter, purpose, family. He had followed her so willingly, so eager to prove himself - how could she turn him away? And he had proved himself, time and time again, with his gentle nature, his stoic sense of responsibility, his generous acceptance of anything that came across his path. Mirage liked him, more than one simply liked a herdmate, she was fond of him, they had built between themselves a comfortable kinship, a friendship of trust and integrity. She allowed herself a small sense of smugness at the thought that it was she who had approached him that day, not vice versa.

The intensity of her gaze, combined with Akaith's, did not waver, as they curiously peered at this stallion, the golden eyes of Mirage, and the slowly twirling rainbow hue of Akaith seemed to be peeling away the rough outer layer Duchanar was intent on using to cover up what lay within. This little shadow mare was experienced with masks, she wore one herself all the time - now, even, though few were skilled enough to tell, and the ones that did know were often related to her by blood. Duchanar took his time in replying, a quality that Mirage actually quietly admired - the power of thought was not one to ever be scoffed at, that one took the time to think of their answer was a credit to their character, it showed the potential for patience, as well as the potential for learning, for problem-solving, for growing and changing.

He spoke of hope, and the mare's stony façade softened a small fraction. He was a damaged beast, she realised, scorned by his past, hoping to turn a new stone. The tension in Thor's posture suddenly made sense to her now, as the little mare digested the body language of the steeds - Duchanar would have to learn that in order to gain himself the respect he thought he deserved, he would first need to give it, in order to earn it in return. "One thing I like to believe, Duchanar, is that there is always hope." The accented tones were quiet, but made all the more powerful because of it. She looked to Thor for confirmation that the large draft thought this stallion worthy of her time, worthy of the Edge's time - she respected his opinion, and it was he who had brought Duchanar here, after all. "I hope the Edge can provide you with what it is you do not realise you seek." A small smile curved her lips at the sentence, as with a nod, and a firm caress of her muzzle into Thor's shoulder, the WeyrLeader accepted him into her herd.

And with that, the little mirage was swallowed by her magic again, lost amidst the sound of muffled footfalls fading into the surrounding forest, the dragonsong of Akaith echoing in her wake.